


when in rome

by broniichan



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Black Mirror Episode: s03e04 San Junipero, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 12:57:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17345645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broniichan/pseuds/broniichan
Summary: In which Ash is gifted a shot at life after death, a shot he’s unsure he wants to take.





	1. I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is based off of the san junipero episode of black mirror but you don't need to be familiar with black mirror or that episode in particular in order to understand what's going on in this fic (though i recommend black mirror as a show). while there are thematic similarities between this and the episode, the plot is different so it is not a complete replication. (if you have seen this episode i hope it's obvious how perfect asheiji is for an au like this)

_It goes without saying_  
_she will find Legos and games_  
_stuffed into closet, dirty socks_  
_tucked under bed, candy wrappers_  
_shoved far back in second drawer._  
_What cannot be discussed_  
_is how faith in you was lost,_  
_hidden away so deep,_  
_out of the blue comes this lack_  
_of trust, sudden need to sift_  
_your stuff. Better not bring up_  
_betrayal, question why she_  
_freaks out, intrudes. Head down,_ _  
keep busy with the broom._

—Timothy Pilgrim, _If God searches your room_

* * *

A sea salt breeze slices through.

Ash brushes windblown strands out of his eyes and squints into the wind, where a vibrant sun drifts for the west. He corrects himself: an imitation sun and an imitation west. Seagulls pass overhead, framed in perfect blue sky with only a smudge of cloud cover. His gaze passes across the horizon, over white sand, over green-blue ocean to settle on the city nestled into rolling coastal hills. Neon lights flash from afar.

San Junipero.

Ash places a hand to his chest. He shuts his eyes and blocks out the crashing waves and squawking gulls. His chest thunders with an even, strong rhythm, tempo carried out to every part of this body.

After a minute, he sighs and drops his hand, fixating on the coastline once again. He refuses to be impressed.

Ash wanders the length of the beach alone, feeling the spritz of water and sand under his feet as the sky turns from blue to orange to black with the setting imitation sun. He acclimatizes to the forgotten agility of his limbs as distant music and voices drift over from the city, car headlights swaying down curving roads. Stars brighter and clearer than he’s ever seen them dot the night sky.

With ten minutes until midnight, Ash sits at the water’s edge, watching the waves rush in and out. The sand is damp underneath him.

His watch ticks, seconds hand inching to twelve. It strikes, and San Junipero vanishes.

He wakes. The room is foggy as usual.

The nurse smiles, leaning closer. Compared to the crashing waves and cawing seagulls, her voice is distant, thick, as if spoken from outside a fishbowl. “How are you feeling, Mr. Callenreese?”

Hand shaky, Ash hands back the chip. “I don’t see what the fuss is all about,” he grumbles. “It’s not that great.”

She laughs, shutting off the chip and replacing it back in its storage container. “I’m sure you’ll get used to it in no time. Most people can’t wait to go back.”

“Hm.” Ash turns his head away, gazing over the other patients in armchairs waking up from their own trips as well.

His pulse is frail and quiet in his chest.

* * *

San Junipero’s roads are ideal for drives.

Ash takes a red convertible out, sailing along the winding hills without the New York congestion and inconvenience he’s so accustomed to. When he’s done driving, he parks the convertible to the side of his rental house, palatial beach house with sunny yellow walls and a patio looking out onto the sea. His nearest neighbor is several stone throws’ away, so the house is always quiet, rumbling with the ocean and wind. Ash didn’t decorate the place, it has somewhat of a rustic minimalism to it: unpolished wood, artistically rusted fixtures.

Though through the entranceway sits a table with a framed picture of Griff, Sharon, and Skip in greeting. After hesitating in the door a moment, Ash plucks it up and looks up without processing the image. He moves through the house, finding a tiny extra bedroom with a bedside table.

Framed picture placed on the bedside table, Ash shuts the room door.

Out of curiosity, he skips over entering the house and drives to the city to explore the following week. All of the shops are for pleasure only: bakeries, cafes, bars, restaurants, bookstores, movie theaters, stages. _If they’re going for realism, they should’ve put a shitty McDonald’s in here somewhere,_ Ash thinks to himself, passing by a cafe playing ‘Down Under’ by Men at Work.

An old white car with a red stripe passes by. Ash shoves his hands in the pockets of his denim jacket and continues, slipping into streams of chattering people heading their own directions, all clothed in fuschias and limes and leathers. The car with the stripe jerks to a stop and its taillights flick off. Girls in heels and tall, curly hairstyles hop out. A different girl on the sidewalk rushes over to hug them, squealing.

The group of girls enter a brick building with music echoing from inside, the neon sign overhead reading _TUCKER’S,_ and with little else to go on, Ash follows, squeezing through a dark entranceway. The music grows louder, and he finds himself overlooking a club, a crowd dancing under a disco ball and spinning rainbow light while others sit at the bar and booths set around.

He stands a moment, absorbing. Someone bumps into him from behind.

“Don’t stand in the doorway,” says some guy. He wears a hoodie with Chinese characters Ash can’t read, cropped dark hair, and a scowl.

Wordlessly, Ash moves aside, letting the guy and some taller guy behind him with spiky purple hair through. Stepping down toward the bar, the first guy shoots Ash an unnecessary glare over his shoulder, while the other guy laughs and drops an arm around his shoulders, pulling his attention away from Ash.

Alone again, Ash surveys the space another minute. The song changes to something vaguely familiar, cheers rising up and people scurrying to the dance floor to catch the first verse. A group of guys dressed in leather enter the club and jolt Ash out of his pause. He hops down the stairs after them, hand brushing the metal handrail, and stops at the bottom, faced with his choices: the cramped dance floor, the bar, or the purple booths.

With the popular song drawing nearly everyone out, he snags an empty booth and settles into the squeaky plastic upholstery, arms folded and eyes flicking around the club. When the song ends and a new one replaces it, people return from the dance floor, flushed and smiling.

Three girls clack by in high heeled boots—one in red, one in yellow, the other in black. The girl in yellow stumbles a little, sipping from a tall glass.

“Whoopsie!” she giggles, steadying herself on the table of Ash’s booth. She smiles at him, lipstick violently pink. “Hey, cutie, mind if we sit here? There’s no more space.”

“Uh. Fine.” Ash scoots all the way to the edge of the half circle seat and leaves plenty of room for the three girls, but the girl in yellow still ends up practically on top of him. He grits his teeth, scooching even further away until he’s inches away from falling off.

“What’s your name?” the girl in yellow asks, leaning into him.

“Ash,” he mutters.

“I’m Carrie.”

He nods at that, turning his gaze back out to the dance floor. The two guys he ran into earlier sit at the bar, the shorter one waving his hands as he speaks. Carrie says something, but the thumping music drowns her out.

Ash looks back at her. “What?”

“I said, are you here with anyone?”

“Oh. No.”

She smiles. “Looking to be?”

“Hm?”

“Looking to be here with someone?”

“No.”

Sitting back, she slurps at her drink. “Oh.”

He says to the table, “I’m not here to have fun.”

Carrie’s mouth pinches, and she sends a look to her two friends, who look equally perplexed. “Um, okay, then,” she says, polishing off the last of her drink. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

The three of them scoot out of the booth and set for the bar, leaving Ash with the booth to himself.

As the night progresses, the crowds dwindle as many head for private places, but Ash remains, sat at the booth with his arms crossed. He never once gets up to dance or get a drink, checking his watch move closer and closer to midnight.

With midnight, he returns to his reality at the nursing home and to his feeble body and voice. The real sun set hours ago, the window outside dark.

Still, his pulse continues.

* * *

Next week the same; head to the club and pick a spot in a booth to watch and wait it out.

Similar people, similar music, pulsating rainbow lights glinting off the rotating disco ball. At first there are no open booths, so he glues himself to a wall, people giving him curious looks as they pass by. Eventually a song by David Bowie thunders over the speakers, pulling people from booths, so he sneaks into the purple seat and exhales to himself.

After some time—Ash watching people flail on the dance floor—someone peels away from the crowd and approaches Ash’s booth. Ash tenses. It’s one of the guys from last time, the one with spiky hair a shade of purple that clashes with the purple of the booth. Sunglasses over his eyes and a blue leather jacket with chains and spikes on his shoulders. His hand clutches a drink with a pink umbrella.

“Need something to loosen up?” he says, sliding in beside Ash and placing the drink in front of him.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I just remember seeing you here last week and you didn’t dance or anything the whole time then, either.” The guy readjusts his sunglasses. A silver piercing sparkles on his eyebrow. “So I thought maybe you were just shy.”

“I’m not _shy,_ ” Ash hisses. “If I wanted to dance, I would.”

The guy shrugs and drapes an arm over the back of the booth. “Aight.” After a moment, he digs in his jacket pocket, pulling out a silver lighter and a pack of cigarettes. He holds up the pack. “You mind? I mean, we’re in San Junipero. It’s not like it’ll do shit, but some people still aren’t comfortable with it.”

“Whatever.”

“Cool.” The guy lights a cigarette and it glows to life. Stowing away the pack and lighter again, he takes a drag and puffs out a cloud of smoke. He doesn’t speak again, calmly enjoying his cigarette while watching the dance floor.

“Shorter!” The first guy with cropped dark hair from last week comes into view, jerking to a stop and scowling when he spots Ash.

“Oh, hey, Sing,” says the guy with purple hair, or Shorter, voice muffled with the cigarette in his mouth. He scoots in further on the booth and pats the open seat. “You two have already met, right?” He grins, glancing back at Ash.

“Hm.” Sing flops down into the seat beside Shorter, mirroring Ash with folded arms. He taps his finger, hands in blue fingerless gloves.

Flicking off ash from his cigarette into the little plate on the table, Shorter focuses on Ash again. “Oh, I forgot, what’s your name?”

The song ends and there’s bustle and chatter.

“Ash.”

“Ash, huh?” Shorter’s cigarette gleams orange. “I’m Shorter, and my buddy here is Sing.”

Ash nods. Sing doesn’t move, face stony.

“So, you a tourist, Ash?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re a lot quieter than the other tourists,” Shorter chuckles, twisting his neck to look back at the dance floor, a gaggle of people cheering. “They take all the chances they can to get.”

“Yeah, well… This place is depressing as fuck, so.”

Shorter raises his eyebrows. “Really? That’s like… the opposite of what most people say.”

“I mean, it’s a fucking graveyard. Everyone here is either dead or on their way to being dead.”

Sing inhales, rolling up his sleeves. “Hey, you want a dead man to kick your ass?”

Ash smirks. “Why bother? I can just turn my pain sensors down.”

“Whoa, okay, now,” Shorter interjects, placing an arm over Sing’s chest.

Huffing, Sing slouches back, arms folded again. _Jesus,_ Ash thinks. _This guy sure is quick to draw._

Shorter scratches his neck. “Well, Ash, I hate to disturb your time to yourself, so I think I’m gonna peace out.” He points at the drink still resting on the table, condensation accumulating on the glass. “You want that? Actually, nevermind, I’ll leave it in case you change your mind.”

Sing disappears in a flash as Shorter scoots out of the booth and stands, putting out his cigarette in the dish on the table.

Smile fading, Shorter cocks his head and speaks at the cigarette. “Still not the same as a real one.”

He heads off, catching up to Sing and disappearing in the swarm.

Ash’s eyes fall on the drink on the table in front of him. Below the pink umbrella, bubbles of carbonation cling to ice cubes. He sits and waits, watching the condensation drip down the side of the glass and form a ring on the table.

Standing, he looks around the club. Shorter and Sing are nowhere, so he takes the chilly drink in hand and clambers out of the booth. He passes under flashing blue lights and heads for the bar, squeezing through a tight knit cluster of people and avoiding eye contact.

Someone bumps into him. The drink splashes onto his t-shirt and denim jacket.

“Oh, no!” Some guy a few inches shorter than Ash skitters back. “I’m so sorry! Sorry!”

Cold and dripping, Ash studies the damage and looks back up.

The guy frowns at him with large brown eyes, black hair blue underneath the lights. “Sorry!” he repeats. “Um, I could get you a drink in repayment!”

“It’s fine,” Ash sighs. “It’s San Junipero. It’ll be dry in a minute.”

“Oh, but…”

Ash pushes through the crowd without waiting to hear the rest. He slams the drink down at the bar when he reaches it, waiting until the bartender slides over.

“Refill?”

“No, I’m returning the glass.”

Smiling in confusion, the bartender takes the glass. “You don’t have to, you know, it’s San—”

“It’s San Junipero, yeah, I know,” Ash finishes, turning his back on the bartender and stalking away.

By the time he reaches his booth, his shirt and jacket are completely dry.

* * *

The following trips to San Junipero pass as blurs of sunset, beach, and lights. Ash places an eye upon the people around him, eavesdropping on their talk. Little is said on their lives outside this place. No real obvious difference between the fulltimers and the tourists.

One time, Shorter passes his way at Tucker’s, pausing and smiling, a drink in his hand. “Still not having fun?” he asks. He laughs at Ash’s expression and chugs his whole drink in one go, wiping his mouth as he steps onto the dance floor.

It rains, outside. Ash didn’t think it possible for San Junipero to have anything but sun and warmth, but then again, they must appease the non-Californians of the world. For that, Ash is grateful, soaking the rainwater into his skin.

Within moments of stepping under an awning, however, he is completely dry.

* * *

The usual trip, the usual allotment of five hours. Ash sits at a booth, arms crossed over his faded denim jacket and old t-shirt. He watches for a while, exchanging a one-sided pleasantry with Shorter (on Shorter’s side) and a brief glance with Sing. Tonight, a warm purple fills the dance floor, offset with bursts of pink.

Amidst the noise, a muttered, “Oh, _shoot._ ” Someone ducks underneath Ash’s table.

Pressing his back into the booth and lifting his feet, Ash says, “Hey, what the—”

“Sorry, sorry, just—” Some guy is cramped underneath, clinging to the table leg. “Act like I’m not here.”

Complaints piling up at the back of his throat, Ash follows his instructions and rests his elbows on the table, gaze out on the club. He scans around for clues, spotting nothing but clusters of people shifting around the club.

After about a minute, the guy exhales. He attempts to worm out from underneath and bangs his head on the table. Ash holds in a laugh, the guy grumbling to himself and rubbing his head as he plops on the squeaky purple beside Ash.

Hand still atop his head, his brown eyes widen on Ash in recognition at the same time Ash remembers that spilt drink. “Oh!” says the guy, dropping his hand from his black hair. “Sorry to bother you again.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Ash sits back. “Bump into anyone else lately?”

“Ah, yeah, sorry! I still owe you a drink for that.”

“Nah, I don’t want one.”

The guy tilts his head, hand fiddling with the cuff of his blue button down. “Oh, but…”

“It wasn’t my drink, anyway.”

“Then why bring it up,” the guy says, voice pinched. “Sounds like someone is bitter I spilled his drink.”

“I was just making conversation.”

“Uh huh.” The guy folds his arms. “Well, ah… everything okay? Are you just sitting here by yourself?”

“ _Yes,_ I’m fine. What are you, my mom?”

“Okay, very mature. How old are you, twelve?”

“I’m not sure what year they’re trying to mimic here,” Ash says, raising his eyes to the room, “but I’m eighty-six in the real world.”

“Oh, I see.” Arching an eyebrow, the guy lifts his chin. “Well, don’t worry, when you get to my age, you’ll probably mature.”

“And how old is that?”

“Eighty-nine.”

“Eighty-nine.” Ash lets out a low whistle. “Man, you’re really holding out, huh. Sure you’re not just senile, old guy?”

“I’m _very_ much of sound mind, thank you very much.”

“Sure. So you’re a tourist too, then. Planning on sticking around here when the time comes?” Ash smirks and adds, “Which will probably be very soon, given your age.”

The guy narrows his eyes. “ _Well,_ I haven’t decided yet. At the moment I’m just checking it out.” His eyes dart toward the door, but he immediately blinks and returns to Ash. “Are you planning on staying?”

“Nah.” Ash leans back and folds his arms behind his head. “I’m ready to peace out when the time comes. I almost died a couple of years ago from a heart attack but they just can’t seem to let me die, so I’m looking forward to a _long_ nap.”

The guy’s face drops. “Oh.”

“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not sad about it, and no one else should be either.”

The guy blinks, slowly, fingers again playing with the cuffs of his shirt.

Ash sighs.

A silence, the song overhead ending to claps and cheers and another replacing it with sharp canned drum beats. The energy radiating from the dance floor fizzles out at their booth.

The guy jerks up straight. “Oh, no—” He ducks under the table again, elbowing Ash in the knee, and finally, Ash gets a clear view of the cause: two girls, one with red hair down to her back, the other with black hair in a bob. They pass by without glancing at the booth or noticing the guy underneath, and they hop up the stairs and out of the building.

Ash nudges the guy with his knee. “Coast is clear.”

Sighing, the guy pulls himself back onto the seat.

“Ex-girlfriend or something?” Ash asks.

The guy glares. “It’s none of _your_ business.”

Ash raises his hands, waiting until the guy exhales and deflates before resting them flat on the table. They sit in silence again, the thundering music reverberating through Ash’s body.

“Oh, um…” The guy leans into his elbow. “I’m Eiji, by the way.”

“Eiji? Is that…”

“Japanese.”

“Wait, are you from Japan Japanese, or Japanese American?”

“From Japan, but I live in the US right now.”

“Ah. How long have you been living here?”

“Around thirty years. Long enough to be okay in English. Not like it matters here, since San Junipero automatically translates everything.” Eiji cocks his head. “I could be speaking Japanese right now and you wouldn’t even know.”

“Well, I would know now, since you’ve told me.”

Eiji pouts, crossing his arms. “Is that anyway to talk to your elders, Mr…?”

“Ash.”

“Ash? Like… from a fire, ash?”

“Yep.”

“Huh. I didn’t know it could be a name.”

“Anything can be a name, technically.”

“I guess you’re right.” Looking down, Eiji thinks over it a second before offering out a hand. “Well, nice to meet you.”

A breath. Ash takes his hand and accepts the shake. Eiji’s grip is firmer than he expects.

“Well,” Ash says, quickly pulling his hand back, “if you end up staying here, maybe you’ll learn to not be so clumsy. I mean, not like it matters here, but you don’t want to waste so many drinks.”

“Hey,” Eiji says as Ash laughs. “I _offered_ to get you a new one and _you_ said no, so I don’t know why you keep—” He stands, pointing at Ash. “You know what—”

He stomps away. Ash peers around the booth to get a glimpse of where he went, but Eiji is lost to the crowd, so Ash sits back and crosses his arms.

Within a minute, Eiji barrels back into his vision, startling Ash out of his reverie. He slams down a drink (tall, iced, pink umbrella) in front of Ash. “There,” he snaps. “So I won’t owe you anymore. I even went to the trouble of figuring out what drink it was.”

Open mouthed, Ash blinks at the drink. The weight of Eiji’s glare on him, he chews on the inside of his lip and thinks it over. Bubbles rise to the surface of the drink.

He sighs dramatically and pulls the drink to himself, taking a small sip from the (also pink) straw. Fizzy, fruity, a slight burn at the back of his throat.

“Great,” Eiji says. “Now you have nothing to hold over me.” With that, he leaves for real, lost in people and colored light.

Ash sits back, furrowing his brow at the drink. He sneaks another sip.

When the glass is half-empty and Ash is absentmindedly chewing on the straw, someone’s voice calls, “Whoa, what’s this?” Shorter passes by, carrying his jacket over his shoulder. His face breaks into a sly grin. “Is that Ash having fun?”

Ash drops the drink and pushes it away from himself, scowling as Shorter laughs and continues on to join the crowd on the dance floor.

A song with a steady funk baseline begins, and Shorter tosses aside his jacket but leaves on his sunglasses, suavely bobbing with the eventual layered rhythm of baseline, cymbals, and sax. The lights overhead shift to a cool orange, speckles of white light from the disco ball splattered on the floor and people.

Ash watches, hand curled into a fist. Shorter’s smile is wide.

With an inhale, Ash chugs the rest of his drink. Only ice and a hint of fruit flavor left at the bottom, he slams it down and jumps up, passing the bar and the dance floor to hop up the steps to the exit. Outside, the air is cooler. Ash stops in the middle of the pavement, night breeze on his skin, neon lights filling his vision.

A rumble of wheels. Headlights pierce through the dark. Honks.

“Get out of the road!”

For lack of anything better to do, Ash flicks them the finger and receives another honk in response. He dashes off to the sidewalk, letting the car pass him by, red tail lights glaring at him. He exhales, sweeps a look over people walking about the streets, and turns away from the club still echoing with music and voices.

Midnight comes when Ash lies in the sand on the beach, alone, looking up into the convincing fabrication of constellations overhead. Somehow, the tick of his watch grows louder over crashing waves.

_12:00._

The nurse smiles at him, taking the chip. “Have a good time, Mr. Callenreese?”

He adjusts his hearing aid and says, “Sure.”

* * *

Ash wakes on a Tuesday to the usual blurry vision before he fumbles for his glasses. It’s any other normal day; tries to get himself into his wheelchair alone, only to have a nurse rush in and help, chastising him.

“I can do it myself,” he grumbles, shakily grasping the handrails.

“Mr. Callenreese, you know better than that. It’s my job to assist you,” says the nurse, a young man with red hair whom Ash sees most mornings. “Anyhow, your nephew is visiting today, so I don’t want to give him any reason to worry, alright?”

“…Yeah.”

The nurse nudges the wheelchair forward and Ash’s head bobs. They roll out of the room and down the hallway for the dining room, other elderly people and their nurses hobbling around.

Over Ash’s head, his nurse asks, “Excited to see your nephew? It’s been awhile since he’s been here, right? Traveling for work or something like that.”

“Yeah,” Ash says, a blanket answer for both questions.

The nurse asks nothing more, guiding him into the dining room and stopping him at a table opposite some other woman slowly stirring oatmeal.

“No, no—” Ash points across the room. “Put me at the window table.”

“Mr. Callenreese, Mrs. Makowsky is quite nice,” his nurse says, stepping into view. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to talk about!”

Dropping his hand to the armrest of the wheelchair, Ash mutters under his breath, “I’m not a little kid.”

“I know that, Mr. Callenreese, but isolating yourself is detrimental to physical and mental health.”

 _What does it matter?_ Deflating, Ash looks at the woman across from him, whose name has already fled his memory; she continues to stir her oatmeal, not listening to the conversation. He sighs. “Fine.”

The woman proves difficult to interact with, both her hearing and her comprehension weak, and Ash only grows more irritated with being sidled with the position of initiator for everything.

“Wasn’t that nice?” says his nurse after breakfast, wheeling Ash away.

“Hm.”

The day passes as it always does. Ash is forced into dull menial activities until visiting hours, when he’s taken away to the cozy lounge near the front. He waits for five minutes, watching other patients’ family members arrive and settle on couches.

Finally, a tall middle aged man with dark brown skin and close shaved black hair enters the room, face breaking into a smile when he spots Ash.

“Uncle Aslan!”

Ash smiles. “Skip.”

Skip crouches before Ash and gently hugs him. “How are you doing? How’s San Junipero?” He plops into the armchair beside Ash’s wheelchair. His eyes glitter. “Tell me everything. Is it really as realistic as people say it is?”

Ash lifts a shoulder. “It’s okay, I guess.” Studying Skip’s expression a second, he reluctantly tacks on, “Yeah, I guess it is pretty realistic.”

Skip continues to grill Ash about San Junipero for a while, but after receiving mostly clipped answers, he shifts to talking about his life, specifically his work trip to Germany. All the sights he saw, all his awkward experiences from knowing barely more than ‘hello’ and ‘thank you’ in German; Skip relays them with enthusiasm and laughter, and Ash is content to sit and listen.

Eventually, the visit must end, and Skip hugs Ash again.

“I’ll try to see you again soon!” Skip calls, waving as he leaves the room. “Have fun in San Junipero!”

Ash raises a hand. When Skip is out of sight, he rests his hand on the armrest. Gnarled blue veins poke out from sunken skin.

* * *

The next time Ash goes to San Junipero and re-enters his beachfront house, the picture of Griff, Sharon, and Skip greets him once more.

 _Didn’t I move that?_ He frowns and takes it in hand. Without processing the image, he replaces it back on the bedside table of the unused bedroom and shuts the door behind himself.

The rest of the five hours, Ash unconsciously rubs his fingertips together, trying to lose the feeling of imagined dust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [the dark side - muse](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e0UWT0dFSQE&t=0s&index=9&list=PLN7pGL0OKYOdd4lCxBDTnxvf5zpj2msdW)
> 
> i'm here to provide that good shit so here's a [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7pGL0OKYOdd4lCxBDTnxvf5zpj2msdW) of various bops for this fic
> 
> [tumblr](http://broniichan.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jeez. That’s too much to think about.”
> 
> “Maybe thinking would do you some good.”
> 
> “Shut up. Isn’t this place just about mindless fun?”

A sunny day in San Junipero. 

Beams of orange sunlight steal through buildings, warming Ash’s back as he traipses up winding roads away from sand and sea. Cars whizz past. 

He reaches the now familiar neon signs and buildings and follows until he finds the tropical sign of Tucker’s. Inside is bustling and noisy as usual, drumbeat reverberating throughout. Stopping at the platform overhead, Ash scans over the crowds at the tables, the bar, the dance floor. Not recognizing anyone, he steps down the stairs and heads to the tables. Unfortunately, none of them are open, so he glues himself to a pillar with arms folded over his denim jacket. 

After a wait of around ten minutes, a group of people leave a booth and finished drinks, so Ash ducks in snags a seat. His victory is short lived, however, as they immediately return with new drinks. 

“Oh, uh—” says a girl in a green jumpsuit with square shoulders, drink clutched in her hand. 

“Sorry,” Ash says, scooting out. 

“Oh, no, it’s fine! There’s room.” 

“No, it’s okay—” 

“No, please, sit.” 

Reluctantly, Ash stops and scoots back in, letting the girl and her two friends find spots beside him. He presses his back into the plastic upholstery, hands clasped. 

They make it through brief introductions and small talk, but Ash quickly tunes out and the friends talk about things and people he knows nothing about. He sits there, squashed between them, their talk going right over him. 

“Ugh, I’ve only been to the Quagmire once,” the girl in green says. She sips her drink. “It’s so horrible there, I can’t stand it.” 

Her friend adds, “Yeah, I don’t know why anyone would go there to have  _ fun. _ It’s completely overrated.” 

Their talk spirals off in other directions for a while, but when the two friends leave to go dance, Ash and the girl in green sit in silence, song echoing. 

Unclasping his hands, Ash asks, “What’s the Quagmire?” 

“Hm?” The girl blinks. “Oh, the Quagmire? It’s a club on the outskirts of town. I wouldn’t recommend it, this place is a lot better.” 

“Ah.” 

More silence. Ash mulls another moment. 

“Well…” he says, scooting out of the booth and nodding at her. “See ya.” 

“Oh! Bye.” 

He skirts around the dance floor and approaches the bar, squeezing in beside some couple laughing. “Excuse me.” 

The bartender drops a drink off down the bar and comes over. “Yeah?” 

“Where’s the Quagmire?” 

“The Quagmire?” Mouth curling in amusement, the bartender wipes out a glass. “Take Sunset Avenue until it ends. You’ll know it when you see it.” 

“Okay. Thanks.” Ash peels away and heads for the door. 

The sunset is at its most vibrant when he exits, orange and pink smeared across the horizon, and he follows Sunset Avenue, aptly named for pointing directly west. As the buildings thin out into sands and bushes, the sky darkens until there is only a wisp of orange amidst muted blue. Motorcycles surge past him, stirring up sand, and Ash raises a hand to his eyes. 

At the end of the road sits a dilapidated monster of a building, heavy guitar riffs escaping from inside. Swallowing, Ash climbs up inside, falling into dark red lights. People crowd the narrow staircase leading up, mohawks and piercings and spikes everywhere. The stairs lead to a dark, clustered space; a rock band finishes a song with hair raising note, drinking games splashing the floor with foam, couples making out. One section is divvied up into a cage containing two guys throwing punches at each other, crowd around them cheering. 

Ash stops and takes it in. 

People pass by, eyeing him. One guy with piercing eyes slows, offering Ash a smile. His hand paws down Ash’s chest. 

Ash slaps his hand away. “ _ Don’t touch me. _ ” 

Without waiting for the guy to respond, Ash slips into a crowd of people for cover. He checks back for a second, but the guy is out of sight, so he worms his way out and approaches the bar. 

There’s vomit splattered on the floor and people passed out without anyone seeming to care, so tiptoeing around, Ash finds a seat to watch the proceedings. The heavy drums and guitar drill into his ears, and he considers turning down his sound level. 

He studies the space for some time, ears ringing with noise, until movement to the left attracts his eyes away. Ash jolts with recognition, finding that guy Eiji in a bomber jacket with some guy whose red face and stumbling clue Ash into his drunkenness. Eiji nods his head, strained smile on his mouth as he says something Ash can’t hear. He goes to walk away. The guy grabs Eiji’s hand and yanks him back. Eiji mumbles something, uselessly tugging against.

Ash stands up and walks over. “Hey, sweetheart,” he purrs, draping an arm around Eiji’s neck. “I was wondering where you got to.” 

The guy scowls. Ash regards him with an icy expression, saying nothing and waiting until the guy drops Eiji’s hand, takes another swig of his drink, and staggers off elsewhere. 

Once the guy is out of sight, Ash lifts his arm and steps away from Eiji. “Sorry about that,” he says, returning to his normal voice.

Rubbing his wrist, Eiji shakes his head. “No, thank you.”

A breath of silence, both of them sizing each other up. 

“What are you doing here?” Ash asks. “Doesn’t really seem like your kind of place.” 

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean? You don’t know me, maybe this place _is_ my kind of place.”

“If you say so.” Ash smirks. “Not avoiding your ex-girlfriend or whatever, right?” 

“I do say so, and I’m not avoiding anyone, so.” 

“Right.” 

In a lull of speech, the lead singer on stage screeches into the mic, drawing up shouts and cheers from the intoxicated crowd. Eiji looks aside, harsh psychedelic light drawing stripes on him. He plays with the buttons of his jacket. 

Eiji sighs, dropping his hands and drooping. “I hate this place.” 

Ash snorts. “That was quick.” 

“Leave me alone.” Lifting his chin, Eiji turns on his heel and pushes through the crowd. 

Ash, unsure what’s inspiring him, trails a few beats after. Eiji makes no complaint when Ash catches up to him, and without speaking, they squeeze through the dark entranceway and back outside. A cool breeze rushes across the dunes and bushes, sky a hushed blue with the sun gone behind the horizon. 

They walk side by side along the road, sandy gravel crunching at their feet. With a look back to the horizon, Ash wonders how much more of the world beyond is programmed and at what point they exit the boundary of San Junipero. Or if it’s possible to exit the boundary of San Junipero. 

He looks forward; the city glows in the green hills, distant gulls flying over the ocean. 

“So…” Eiji says finally, with a flicker of a glance. “You’re from the US, right? Where are you from? If it’s okay to ask.” 

“Yeah, I don’t care. I’m from New York. City, not state.” 

Eiji’s mouth twitches. “I’m glad you clarified.” 

“Well, I don’t want anyone thinking I’m from the  _ state. _ Gross.” 

“Wow, how rude to everyone from the state.” 

“Hey.” Ash cocks his head. “Where are you from then, smartass?”

“ _ Well, _ as I said I’m from Japan, but I live in California. San Francisco.” 

“You criticized me for saying I’m from the city but you’re from California? ‘West coast, best coast’?” 

“I’m not  _ from _ California. I just happen to live there.” 

“Okay, how long have you been living there?” 

Eiji thinks on it a moment. “Around thirty years.” 

“That’s definitely long enough to count as being from there.” 

“Okay then, Mr. Know-It-All. I guess we’ll have to accept that we’re  _ both  _ pretentious jerks.” 

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

A car blasting pop songs passes by, swirling clouds of sand following. Eiji coughs and covers his mouth. 

“Jeez,” he says, “you’d think they wouldn’t make this place feel  _ so  _ real that it’s just like the worst parts of reality. The sand gets everywhere.” 

“Mm.” 

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Eiji exhales and sets his gaze upon the city. “Oh, yeah. What were  _ you  _ doing at the Quagmire? Didn’t seem like you were having a great time either.” 

“Just exploring.” Ash keeps his eyes forward. 

Eiji pinches his mouth, but doesn’t comment and keeps forward. 

With mild conversation, they reach the flashing neon colors and echoing songs from the main part of the city, ambling up the hill alongside others chattering. 

Eiji heads into Tucker’s with Ash on his heels. He slows at the entrance overlooking the dance floor, bar, and seats, falling behind Ash and scanning around as if looking for someone. When he deems the space safe, he nudges Ash forward. 

“Here,” Eiji says, hopping down the stairs and nodding toward the bar. He leads Ash forward and stops. He addresses the bartender. “Two Peach Paradises, please.” 

“Coming up.” 

“Hey,” Ash complains. He weaves past a couple of girls doing shots to stand beside Eiji. “You already got me that drink last time. You don’t owe me.” 

Eiji offers a maddeningly small smile. “This isn’t for the drink. It’s for back at the Quagmire.” 

“You don’t need to—” 

“It’s San Junipero. It’s not like it even costs me money. Just let me do this, please.” 

Ash falls silent, glowering. Eiji is unbothered, refusing to cow. 

The bartender slides two identical orange drinks to them. “Two Peach Paradises.” 

“Thank you,” Eiji says, pulling the one closest in and taking a sip while maintaining Ash’s gaze. 

Ash sighs, deflating, and reluctantly grabs the other drink. He avoids Eiji’s watchful gaze and takes a sip. Sparkling sweetness cools the back of his throat. 

“Okay?” asks Eiji, tilting his head. “You look like the kind of person who says they like hard liquor to seem tough but actually prefers fruity mixed drinks.” 

“You don’t  _ know  _ me—” 

Eiji takes an evasive sip with a smug look. 

With nothing compelling on his tongue, Ash grabs his drink and guzzles the whole thing down. “Excuse me!” he calls to the bartender. “Vodka shot.” 

Eiji continues to eye him with amusement when Ash receives a tiny glass of clear liquid. Barely waiting a moment to prepare, Ash knocks it back. It tastes like burnt plastic and burns the back of his throat. He holds in a wince and places the glass down. “Another.” 

When the bartender replaces the emptied one with a full one, Eiji’s hand snatches out to grab it. “Alright, alright,” Eiji says, smiling, “you’ve proved yourself. You don’t need to kill yourself.” He takes a tentative taste of the shot, grimacing. Instead of finishing it, he pours it off into his halfway full other drink and swirls the glass around before taking a sip. “Well, it’s at least a little bit better.”

They settle into comfortable silence, surveying the people on the dance floor, Eiji gradually draining his drink. 

A song with a synth intro begins. 

Eiji sets his glass down and stands up straight. He grabs Ash’s hand. “Come on, let’s dance.” 

Ash rears against Eiji tugging him. “What? No, I’m—”

“Just one song! You’re so stiff.” 

“No, really—” 

Underneath beams of purple light and speckles reflected from the disco ball, Eiji stops facing Ash. Smug grin on his lips again, he begins to move to the sharp drum beats, dark hair bouncing. 

Ash stands, watching, feet rooted and hands to his sides. 

“Come on,” Eiji says. He places his hands on Ash’s shoulders, guiding him into rhythm. “You got this far.” 

Hands still to his sides, Ash allows Eiji’s lead and touch on his shoulders. They remain like this up until the second verse of the song, purple and white lights darting over Eiji’s face, until Eiji sets Ash loose and drops his hands. Rhythm takes Ash’s limbs, his face warm from the alcohol. 

By the time the last chorus of the song fades out, Ash is out of breath, heart thumping. 

“Alright, you’re released,” Eiji says, slowing. “One song.” 

Ash brushes back his hair. He smiles. “One more song won’t kill me.” 

New chords and rhythm pulsating through them, Eiji returns the smile. 

Three songs later, someone calls, “Ash!” 

Ash finds Shorter across the dance floor. Shorter grins and cocks his head as if in question and Ash lifts a hand in reply. Still grinning, Shorter turns away and joins a different group of people on the floor. 

“Someone you know?” Eiji says over the music. 

“Sort of.” 

The purple lights switch to a blue, clean and piercing, clashing with the red of Eiji’s bomber jacket. A beam reaches to Ash. 

Warmth rising to his throat, Ash slows and stops dancing. He stares into the glare of blue, a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck. His breath stills. 

“Ash? Are you okay?” 

The light changes course. Ash blinks, eyes darting around, unable to see other than the memory of blue for a breath. He refocuses on Eiji, who is stopped, eyebrows drawn together. Blue light frames his hair. 

“Yeah, I’m—” Ash shakes his head, inching back. “Sorry, I just remembered—” 

He turns on his heel and pushes through the rambunctious crowd, dashing up the steps. He doesn’t slow until he inhales sea salt and stands under a dark sky glittering with stars. Behind him, the music and voices echo. 

Footsteps. “Ash!” Eiji steps out, frowning and stopping. “What’s up?” 

“Nothing,” Ash says, easily. “I just remembered something I need to do.” 

“Okay… Just—” 

“It’s nothing you did,” Ash insists, voice placating. “I just forgot I needed to talk to someone. Sorry. I’ll see you around.” 

“Oh. Okay. Um…” 

Ash doesn’t wait, turning and heading down the sidewalk. His back burns with Eiji’s eyes. 

He reaches his place on the waterfront and hops out of his convertible. The light of the stars and moon color wash over the beach in pale blue. Ash leaves his converse by the house and walks toward rushing waves barefoot, sand cool and damp. Exhaling, Ash plops down in the sand just beyond where the waves can reach and lies back, spreadeagled, looking up at the constellations overhead. The moon follows the pattern set by reality—three-quarters waxing, right now. 

Waves crashing in his ears, Ash waits until his watch strikes midnight. 

* * *

Next week when Ash returns to San Junipero, he deliberates whether he wants to go into the city at all, or whether he’d prefer to waste time at his beach house. He stands, car keys in hand, sun in his eyes, for five minutes, before caving and slipping into the driver’s seat. 

The city is has the usual bustle and excitement that comes before a night of partying, people rolling in alongside Ash. With a red light up ahead, Ash slows behind a blue Cadillac, song drifting from their rolled down windows. 

“Hey! Ash!” 

Ash tenses and squints; Eiji waves at him from the sidewalk, wearing a pink tank top and sunglasses. When Ash raises a hand in reply, Eiji pushes through others on the sidewalk to come to the passenger’s side of Ash’s car. 

“Mind if I hop in?” 

Ash glances up ahead. Still red. “Okay.” 

Eiji clambers in as the light turns green, and Ash presses the gas in pursuit of the Cadillac in front of them. With the wind whipping their hair around, they are quiet for a moment. 

“How are you doing?” Eiji shouts over the wind. “You get to talk to whoever you mentioned last week?” 

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I did.”

“Have a good week?” 

“In the real world? I guess. You?”

“It was fine, I guess.” 

Following the curves up into the hills of the city, Ash watches the pavement. “Oh, is there somewhere you want me to drop you off?” 

“No, I don’t have plans or anything.” Eiji drapes his arm over the door and looks to the side. “Wait! Stop here.” 

“Here?” Ash slows, peering off to where Eiji’s gaze points. 

“I’ve been meaning to try out that restaurant,” Eiji explains, pointing to a neon sign Ash can’t read from here. 

Checking the lane behind him, Ash merges to the shoulder and they rumble to a stop. He shuts off the engine as Eiji hops out. 

With a slam of the door, Eiji says, “Sorry, you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.” 

Ash clambers out and shrugs. “I got nowhere to be.” 

The restaurant in question is called  _ HANA, _ with  _ Japanese Steakhouse _ underneath. Eiji pushes the door open and Ash follows after, falling in deep red walls with old prints and flower branches. An appetizing aroma wafts from the open kitchen, flames bursting up from something on the griddle, and barely noticeable shamisen music plays. 

A girl pops up. “How many?” 

Eiji pushes his sunglasses up over his forehead. “Two.” 

“This way.” 

They settle underneath a print of a pond at the base of a green mountain, the window to the outside directly to Ash’s left. 

Sunglasses settled in his hair, Eiji combs through the menu, pursing his lips. 

After the waitress drops off two glasses of water, Ash sinks back into his seat. “Trying to see if it’s authentic?” 

“Shh,” Eiji says, eyes zeroing in on him over the top of the menu. “There are so many different ways to cook steak, I don’t know what’s authentic and what’s not. Or even if there  _ is  _ an authentic.” 

“Jeez. That’s too much to think about.” 

“Maybe thinking would do you some good.”

“Shut up. Isn’t this place just about mindless fun?” 

Eiji sets down the menu. “I mean, I guess so. There’s also the whole thing about how this place helps with Alzheimer’s. And I guess, a reward for living? Depending on what you believe you may not think there’s an afterlife, but at least there’s a guarantee of an afterlife here.” 

“A reward for living, huh?” Ash says to himself, swirling the ice cubes around. 

The waitress reappears to take their orders before Eiji can respond. 

“So, is that why you’re here?” Ash prods after the waitress leaves. “Some form of an afterlife? Reward for living?” 

“Well, I still haven’t decided whether I want to stay, but, I guess.” Eiji avoids his eyes, drawing lines into the condensation on his glass. A thought hits him, and he lowers his hand to the table. “You seem to have a very cavalier opinion of this place and you don’t want to stay. Why be here at all?” 

“Can’t a guy enjoy his last bit of life?” 

Eiji raises his eyebrows. “You can’t tell me you’ve been  _ enjoying  _ yourself. I had to practically force you to have fun.” 

Arm draped on the armrest of his chair, Ash says nothing. 

Eiji sighs and takes a drink. “Okay.” 

“My nephew set this up for me,” Ash blurts. “I didn’t want to come here, but he thought it would be good for me, and… Well. He’s the only real family I have anymore.” 

“Oh.” 

“He’s like my kid, so. I mean, legally, he was. My brother and my sister-in-law died when my nephew was nine and I got custody.” 

Hand resting on the table, Eiji studies Ash a breath. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother and sister-in-law. That must’ve been terrible for you and your nephew.” 

Ash shrugs and sips his water. “They’ve been dead a long time.” 

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.” 

A hiss of flame from the kitchen.

Eyes flickering down to the table, Eiji fidgets, readjusting in his seat. “Then, you don’t have any biological kids?” 

“Nope. I never got married, either.” 

“Oh… Was there a reason…?” 

“Not really. I just didn’t see the point. There wasn’t anyone I ever dated who I felt like I wanted to marry. And some of them I couldn’t even marry until it became legal.” 

A pink dusts Eiji’s ears. “Ah.”

A car blasting some song echoes past, pulling Ash’s eyes to the window for a moment. A flash of green. He taps his finger on the table and asks, “So, you ever been married?” 

Eiji doesn’t answer for a few moments. “Yeah,” he says, quietly. 

“Ah. Is your spouse…?” 

“Yeah. She died five years ago.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

Eiji shrugs and readjusts his sunglasses. “She lived a long life,” he mutters. He exhales and manages a smile, shoulders loosening. “Anyway, I still have my terrible little sister to talk to, so I’m fine.” 

“Is she in America too?” 

“Yeah, she moved to Santa Barbara a few years after I did, so we see each other from time to time.” 

“Well, I’m sure she doesn’t want to see you either.”

“Hey!” Eiji flings a cloth napkin at Ash, who bats it away with a laugh. “I’m a great older brother.”

“Uh huh.” 

Eiji folds his arms, pouting. 

With their meals, they move to more casual and lighthearted conversation, carving through grilled slabs of meat with addons of vegetables and rice. Eiji deems it good, and Ash agrees, and when their plates are clean and the ice has melted in their glasses, they leave without needing to pay. 

Outside, the setting sun casts an orange glow over the buildings, and Eiji slides his sunglasses down over his eyes. He points at the building beside the steakhouse; a thin ladder snakes up red brick to the roof. “Want to see if there’s a good view from up there?” 

“Sure—” 

“ _ Eiji? _ ” 

They whip around. On the sidewalk stand two girls, the closest one with short dark hair and bangs, her eyes on Eiji. 

Her mouth opens. “Eiji!” 

“Sumire,” Eiji murmurs, just as she rushes forward and hugs him. He steps back with the force of her hug, and after a couple of seconds, his hands hesitantly reach up to her back. 

Sumire steps back, hand on Eiji’s shoulder, a broad smile on her face. “I’ve missed you so much! Wait, are you—Have you—Are you a fulltimer?” 

“Oh. No, I’m… Just on a trial run.” 

“Oh, I see.” She focuses on Ash over Eiji’s shoulder. “Who’s your friend?” 

Eiji glances back at Ash, sunglasses hiding his eyes. “Oh. Um. This is Ash.” 

Sumire lingers on Ash only a moment. “Why didn’t you find me first thing?” she asks Eiji. “I can show you around.” 

“Oh, uh. I was going to. I was just hungry so I went to dinner and I just happened to meet Ash there, that’s all.” 

_ Jeez, this guy’s shit at lying, _ Ash thinks. 

Sumire’s smile drips away. “You’re lying.” 

With a sigh, Eiji peels her hand off his shoulder and pushes up his sunglasses. “Can we talk?” he asks, voice soft.

Before Sumire can respond, Ash points behind himself and says, “I’ll see you around, Eiji.” He steps to the brick building and scales up the ladder without looking down, hopping onto the rooftop. It is a pretty good view, the rolling hills descending into beach and ocean, colorful lights and buildings dotting the landscape, and to the west (not the true west, Ash knows), an orange sunset so bright he can’t look at it directly. 

After soaking in the sun and breeze for a moment, Ash hazards a look down. Eiji and Sumire have moved to the alley below, their voices indistinct from this distance. Ash debates leaving them be, but curiosity wins out and he turns up his sound output just enough to make out their words. 

“—for five weeks and you haven’t contacted me?! You  _ knew  _ I’m here, why did you—”

“I know, I know.” Eiji exhales. “I’m so sorry. I just… I haven’t been ready to see you, yet.” 

“Not ready? What do mean, not ready? I haven’t seen you in  _ years, _ and I couldn’t know whether you were considering San Junipero or not _. _ ”

“Sumire, I’ve missed you so much, and… I can’t handle you hating me.” 

“Hating you? Why would I hate you?” 

“Just…” Eiji’s voice weakens. “Hear me out, okay?”

Sumire goes quiet, only the top of her head visible to Ash. 

“After you moved here, I spent a lot of time thinking. I was conflicted over whether I would tell you if I came here and saw you, but I… I don’t think I can live with myself if I don’t tell you.” Eiji inhales. “Sumire, I want you to know that you’ve always been my best friend, and I still consider you my best friend. But I… I never…” 

A long pause, car wheels screeching on the street. 

“I thought I loved you. I mean, I do, but not—not the way I’m supposed to. I love you the way I love my sister and my parents, not the way you’re supposed to love your wife.” 

No response. 

“I didn’t know—I didn’t realize until we’d been together for long enough that I—I should have told you then but I—” Ash can hear Eiji swallow, the wobble in his voice. “It’s not  _ you,  _ I just can’t… I couldn’t have…”  

A stuttering breath from Sumire. 

“I’m so sorry. I swear I never cheated on you or anything, but if I could go back and change this, I would never have married you in the first place—”

“ _ Stop. _ ” Sniff. “You… You lied to me.” 

“I know. I’m so sorry, I know—” 

“I’ve heard enough. If you stay here, don’t talk to me. I don’t want to see you.” Her voice ices over as she spits, “Have fun with your  _ boyfriend. _ ” She breezes past Eiji and rejoins her friend on the sidewalk.

Ash sits a breath, studying the top of Eiji’s head, before he regains movement and turns his sound levels back to normal, standing and pulling away from the ledge. He goes to the other side of the roof and takes a seat there, now overlooking the street and the cars and crowds moving below. 

After a minute, pings of metal reach his ears and Eiji’s face pops up from the ladder. Ash looks forward, one leg bent and the other dangling over the edge of the roof. 

Eiji sits down beside him. He wraps his arms around his knees, eyes trained down at the street. “Did you listen?” 

“…Yes.” 

Unsurprised, Eiji nods. “I forgot about the translation thing.” 

Below is a red light, Olivia Newton-John’s ‘Physical’ echoing from a black convertible. Light flicks to green, rev of an engine, and the convertible sails up the road and eventually out of sight. 

Quiet tears trickle down Eiji’s face, his lips pressed together. 

Ash murmurs, “You must’ve been protecting yourself.” 

Eiji does not move, tears rolling down. 

With a small exhale, Ash puts an arm around Eiji’s shoulders and squeezes, and Eiji immediately softens at the touch, pressing his face into Ash’s shoulder. His body shakes. 

They sit like that for a while, detached from the rest of San Junipero, the sun vanishing on the distant horizon and a somber blue coloring the landscape. Voices and music grow louder. 

When Eiji’s face is long dry and his expression is smooth and calm, he pulls away and Ash drops his arm. Avoiding Ash’s eyes, Eiji says, “I’m going to head back to my house.” 

“Okay. I can drive you, if you want.” 

Eiji shakes his head. “No, I’m okay. Thanks anyway.” 

Ash nods and watches Eiji’s head disappear down the ladder. The clangs of metal grow quieter until they are gone. 

On the road below, headlights dance back and forth, white in contrast to colorful neon signs. 

The sky overhead now a cobalt full of stars, Ash stands and climbs back down the ladder. His car still sits on the shoulder, the Japanese steakhouse seemingly empty at this time of night. He clambers in and revs the engine, flooding the street with his headlights, and carefully, he executes an awkward three-point turn across the lane to turn around. Cool night air whips at him as he zooms up and down the little hills out of the city and toward the sea. 

His beach house is dark when he arrives. Leaving his car unlocked (for what does it matter), he pockets the keys and steps inside. Without any open windows or doors, the air hangs stunted and stuffy. 

Ash creeps forward, dark wood floor creaking underneath his converse. 

The framed photograph of Griff, Sharon, and Skip faces outward again on the table. Ash steps to the table, and without looking at their faces, he places it facedown. 

* * *

The next week in San Junipero, Eiji is nowhere. Five hours tick by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [shout - tears for fears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ye7FKc1JQe4&t=0s&list=PLN7pGL0OKYOdd4lCxBDTnxvf5zpj2msdW&index=13)
> 
> [full playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN7pGL0OKYOdd4lCxBDTnxvf5zpj2msdW)
> 
> [tumblr](http://broniichan.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://twitter.com/bronii_chan)


End file.
